


Where There Is No Path

by FriendofCarlotta



Series: Season 15 Codas [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A bit of angst and sadness because this is still canon-compliant, Beach Day, But let's just focus on the weddings and beach days OK, Castiel Is a Good Parent, Episode Coda for 15x17 (Unity), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sam Winchester is a good parent, TFW Domesticity, Unrepentant Fluff, Wedding, dean winchester is a good parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta
Summary: Let me tell you a story.Once upon a time in Kansas, three men fall to their knees, trying in vain to protect a child who is crouched on the cold, hard floor, ready to die for the sins of an unforgiving god.But that story? It’s only one possible version. As light engulfs our heroes, they close their eyes, each seeing visions of a different story: the one they would write if they could.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Codas [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975264
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	Where There Is No Path

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a canon-compliant coda to 15x17 was a bit of a challenge, for obvious reasons. (*cough* cliffhanger *cough*)
> 
> But after all the distress in that episode (and the even worse distress that's probably coming our way in 15x18), I was in dire need of domestic TFW fluff.
> 
> So... enjoy!

_Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path, and leave a trail. – Ralph Waldo Emerson_

***

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time in Kansas, three men fall to their knees, trying in vain to protect a child who is crouched on the cold, hard floor, ready to die for the sins of an unforgiving god.

But that story? It’s only one possible version. As light engulfs our heroes, they close their eyes, each seeing visions of a different story: the one they would write if they could.

***

**Sam**

The front door creaks a little as Sam opens it, and he realizes he forgot to put WD-40 on the hinges again.

He smiles, small and private. It doesn’t matter. There’ll be time to do it later.

It’s late afternoon, and the slanted rays of the slowly setting sun cast a soft, golden glow across the living room. It’s a nice, open space, with a high ceiling and a kitchen unit at one end. Jack is sitting on the floor, halfway between the kitchen and the couch, a big grin on his face as he winds up a toy car, to the complete delight of the little boy sitting opposite him.

Jack looks up at the sound of the door closing, and his grin widens. “Hello, Sam.”

The car zooms across the floor, straight into the glass door that leads out to the deck. The boy squeals and chases after it, snatching it off the ground before he runs up to tackle Sam's midsection in a tight, squeezing hug.

“Hi, Dad!”

Sam feels his heart leap in his chest. “Hey, Paddy.” He sets down his workbag and scoops the small boy up in his arms, holding him tight and taking a moment to nuzzle his hair. If he tries hard enough, he can still smell that soft, fragile baby scent on his son. Padraic, after Eileen’s father.

With a contented swing in his step, Sam walks over to the couch and drops into it, hard enough to prompt a protesting whine from its springs. Somehow, Paddy keeps a determined octopus grip on his shoulders the whole time. Turning to Jack, Sam asks, “He give you any trouble?”

Jack grins at him, bright and carefree. “No. He was great. Ate all his lunch, so I gave him a little bit of chocolate for dessert. I hope that was alright.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Sam starts poking Paddy’s sides, eliciting a string of high-pitched squeals and giggles. “A little chocolate won’t hurt him. Or so Eileen keeps telling me.”

Jack nods thoughtfully. “She’s coming back on Thursday, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam heaves a still-giggling Paddy off his lap and heads to the kitchen. Eileen left them a whole bunch of pre-cooked meals before she went on her work trip, so all they have to do now is decide which one they want to eat. “You can go back to Dean and Cas’ place Friday morning, if you want, or you can stay a bit longer.”

Sam finds a covered casserole dish that looks promising and sets it on the counter, popping the lid even as Paddy walks up and starts tugging at his arm. “Dad, what’re we having?”

“Chicken stew, bud.”

Jack has wandered up to the kitchen counter, peering hopefully down at the thick chunks of chicken and carrot. “That looks delicious. And I don’t mind staying a bit longer if it’s okay with you guys. I don’t have to go back to campus for another week, and Dean and Cas’ house can be…”

Sam snorts. “A bit much.”

“Yes,” Jack agrees solemnly. “A bit much.”

“A bit much” is an understatement, actually, with the constant touching and the soft kissing and the bickering and the noisy… well. Let’s just say, Sam is never going to stay the night at his brother’s house again unless he can help it.

Jack seems to be following a similar train of thought, because he wrinkles his nose and shudders. “I sleep much better at _your_ house.”

***

**Dean**

The sweetness hits Dean’s tongue first, and it’s glorious. Like the first lick of ice cream on a hot day.

Before it can get too overwhelming, a hint of tartness takes its place, followed by a small burn of liquor right at the end. Just enough to know the bartender didn’t give him a Shirley Temple or some shit like that. It’s perfect.

In the beach chair next to him, Jack frowns down at his own drink, using a neon-green crazy straw to stir the layers of reds and yellows in his potbellied cocktail glass. “This tastes like candy, but not,” he tells the top of the tiny green umbrella sticking out over the rim. Then, with a smile, he adds, “I think I like it.”

“Thought you would,” Dean says, pleased, and because there’s something suspiciously like joy bubbling up in his chest, he reaches over and punches the kid playfully on the arm. “Freakin’ sugar addict.”

Jack chuckles and takes another drink as he watches the waves lap lazily at the pristine expanse of sand in front of them. Dean puts down his own cocktail on the side table next to his chair, leaning back and enjoying the way the warmth of the sun moves across his skin in a sort of lazy way, almost like a tickle in slow motion. Damn. He’s waxing poetic about sunlight. Must be spending too much time with Cas, he thinks, but the thought has barely formed when another one takes its place: no such thing as too much time with Cas.

That pleasant reflection, which was about to be heading straight for the gutter — because damn, did the two of them spend some quality _time_ last night — is interrupted by a considering hum from Jack. “I’ve been thinking. You bought me one of these because you thought I would like them. But why did you buy one for yourself?”

Dean squints at the kid over the top of his sunglasses. “Um. Because it’s rude to let people drink alone.”

Jack smiles, bright as the middle of a summer day. “Cas said you would say that. He also said I shouldn’t believe you. He told me you were going to buy us both cocktails because _you_ like them.”

Dean considers denying it, but what would be the point? He’s almost sure the kid has him just as figured out as Cas does and is just teasing him, in that dry, might-be-joking-or-might-be-completely-fucking-serious way he learned from his ex-angel dad.

What he does say is, “Listen, kid.” He points an emphatic finger at Jack, just to make sure he knows this is a damn serious subject. “Cas is right, but you can never, ever tell him so. I love him and all that sappy shit, but he is a _menace_ to live with when he’s smug. So don’t you dare.” Dean punctuates that last bit with a couple of extra wags of his finger. Can’t be too careful.

“I promise,” Jack says solemnly, then casts a slightly forlorn look at the empty beach chair on Dean’s other side. “When do you think Jack and Charlie will be back? I wanted Charlie to see that nice shell I found.”

“Soon, I bet,” Dean says, folding his arms behind his head and stretching his legs, slow and easy, to the tips of his toes. “He was just taking her to see that spot down the beach where he found the hermit crabs yesterday. But you know how they both get. Probably got distracted by a spider web, or a rock shaped like a goat or something.”

He grins at his own joke — he’s damn funny, if he does say so himself — and closes his eyes. Nothing like a nap in the middle of the afternoon, for no reason other than because he can.

He’s almost all the way dozed off when Jack’s excited voice shakes him out of it. “There they are!”

Dean blinks himself back to semi-wakefulness and looks down the beach. Sure enough, there’s a man with wildly tousled hair walking towards them in blue swim trunks. A little bit of grey is mixed in with the dark of Cas’ hair and scruff now, but Dean likes that just fine. Holding Cas’ hand is a little girl of five, chattering excitedly. They’re too far away to hear, but Dean can see the way Cas is looking at her. It’s the way he almost always looks at her: solemn and attentive, like what she’s telling him is the most important thing in the world.

Charlie has dark blonde hair, not red like the Charlie whose absence still feels like the twist of a blade in Dean’s gut sometimes. And her name is Charlotte, not Charlene. But as soon as Dean saw her picture in the files of foster kids that his and Cas’ social worker was showing them, he knew she was the perfect addition to their little family. Someone with sass and spirit; someone to get them out of their heads, on the days when the memories of what they’ve been through overwhelm even Jack’s eternally cheerful soul.

Spotting Dean, Charlie starts jumping up and down and waving at him, somehow putting her whole body into the motion. “Dad!”

Dean waves back, and lets his eyes glide over his family: over Jack, who’s jumped up from his beach chair to meet the others halfway, over Charlie, who’s still trying her damnedest to dislocate her arm, and over Cas, whose eyes meet Dean’s, cheerful and content.

“Yeah,” he says, softly. “There they are.”

***

**Castiel**

“This is the most infuriatingly complicated thing, and I don’t know why humans bother with any of it.”

In a fit of pique, Castiel abandons the smooth silk ends of his cornflower-blue tie, growling at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Dean tried to show him how to do a Windsor knot yesterday, but the process apparently entails some feat of artistry (or possibly dark magic) that Castiel’s fingers are completely incapable of performing.

“Are you talking about the tie or the wedding?” Jack asks from the other end of the hotel room, where he is going over Castiel’s suit jacket with a lint brush.

Castiel glares balefully at the offending piece of shiny cloth. “Either. Both.”

Jack walks over until his reflection joins Castiel’s in the mirror, looking handsome in a light grey suit with a succulent buttoniere that matches Castiel’s own. “Do you not want to marry Dean anymore?” Jack asks, with a confused tilt of his head.

Castiel lays a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “No, Jack, that’s not what I meant. I do want to marry Dean. I’m just… nervous.”

Jack nods sagely. “Sam said you might be. He says it’s—” Jack pauses, clearly trying to recall the exact wording. “—a completely normal emotion to feel. And he also told me that Dean threw up three times last night,” Jack adds, grinning.

Castiel huffs. “That’s not particularly reassuring, Jack.”

He turns away from the mirror, blinking into the late-morning sunlight that streams in through tall, narrow windows. They’re in a small multi-purpose room that’s been set up expressly for Castiel to change in. Aside from a cheerfully patterned carpet, the room contains nothing but the mirror, a couple of chairs and a small side table with snacks and a mostly full bottle of champagne.

It had been Sam and Eileen’s idea to have the ceremony at a small inn a few hours away from Lebanon. Dean had pronounced the venue too fussy at first, grumbling that the “fuckin’ place is probably lousy with doilies,” but he had changed his tune once he learned there would be complimentary chocolates on the pillows of their honeymoon suite.

“I’m only planning to do this once, Cas. Might as well do it right,” he’d said, then, and Castiel had laughed and kissed his fiancé’s forehead.

Even now, Castiel smiles fondly at the memory, and suddenly, twisting a stubborn piece of cloth into shape doesn’t seem quite as daunting anymore. He reaches up to try again, only to realize that Jack has stepped between him and the mirror and is layering the two strips of satin across each other, looping and turning them with sure, practiced motions, until a perfect, straight knot sits just below Castiel’s throat. Not too loose, not too tight.

“Where on earth did you learn how to do this?” he asks, and Jack grins.

“Dean taught me yesterday. He said you’d have trouble with this part, but that Sam wouldn’t allow him to come in and help you out.” In a conspiratorial whisper, Jack adds, “Sam believes it’s bad luck for Dean to see you before the ceremony. I’m not sure why, because you see each other every day.”

Castiel chuckles, the bone-deep kind that starts in his center and travels its way up through his chest in contented little vibrations. “It’s just a superstition, Jack.”

“Oh,” Jack says, nodding his understanding as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. “I think we should probably go. The ceremony starts in ten minutes.”

Castiel’s heart speeds up at that, and he lets Jack take over, lets himself be walked down a series of corridors as he listens to the beating of his pulse in his ear, feels the surge of adrenaline that makes his stomach churn and his fingertips tingle. Without knowing entirely how it’s happened, he finds himself standing in front of a set of double doors that leads to the lawn behind the hotel. Castiel remembers seeing the view out there yesterday, strolling hand in hand with Dean. The lawn looks out over a stunningly clear lake and undulating, thickly wooded hills. 

“Are you ready, Cas?” Jack asks, tilting his head at the world beyond those doors. The world where Dean waits for Castiel. Where Dean gets to be his forever, and their son is with them, whole and safe.

“I am,” he answers, and though he feels a little unsteady on his feet, it's unquestionably true. “Thank you for being here with us today, Jack.”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Jack says, and hooks his arm into Castiel’s. The doors open, and sunlight streams into the corridor. A gentle slope of verdant grass spreads out in front of Castiel, and with one last glance at Jack's cheerful smile, he walks down it.

At the bottom of the slope, under a wooden canopy decorated with evergreen branches, stands the most beautiful man Castiel has ever seen, in a black suit and immaculately knotted green tie.

Their eyes meet. Dean smiles, making the small lines next to his eyes crinkle, and the beauty of the pristine landscape pales in comparison.

Castiel tugs on Jack’s arm, and holds on a little tighter.

“I am,” he says again. “I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life! If you enjoyed this, please leave me one, or hit that kudos button. I really appreciate hearing your thoughts :) . (If you really, REALLY enjoyed this, here's a [rebloggable tumblr post](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com/post/633617552354983936/let-me-tell-you-a-story-once-upon-a-time-in).
> 
> If you think you might like to read more of my writing in the future, you can [subscribe to me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta) on my author page!
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com)!


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